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THE WIND IN THE CORN 



THE WIND IN THE CORN 

AND 

OTHER POEMS 

BY 

EDITH FRANKLIN WYATT 




D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 

1917 



(]/'U/iX^:^l-^^<^ 






COPYRIGHT, igi7, BY 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT, IQOI, 1903, 1909, I9II, I9IS, BY THE MCCLURE PUBLICATIONS, 

INC. 
COPYRIGHT, 1904, 1907, BY HARPER & BROS. 

COPYRIGHT, 1905, 1906, 1909, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER's SONS 
COPYRIGHT. 1905, 1906, 1907, 1908, 1909, I9IO, I912, I9I3, I9I4, BY P. F. 

COLLIER & SON 
COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT, 1909, I913, BY THE RIDGWAY COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY THE METROPOLITAN MAGAZINE COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY THE WOMAN'S WORLD MAGAZINE COMPANY, LNC. 
COPYRIGHT, 191 2, BY MITCHELL KENNERLEY 

COPYRIGHT, 191 2, 1913, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT, I914, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT, I9I4, I915, I9I7, BY HARRIEX MONROE 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



HOy -0 1917 



©C;,A477480 



TO 

PHYLLIS WYATT BROWN 

THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 



Of the poems in this volume, "Winter Wheat," 
"Huron," and "A Twilight Tale," are here pub- 
lished for the first time. For permission to re- 
print the other lyrics, the writer thanks the 
editors of Scribner's Monthly, Harper's Monthly, 
the Atlantic Monthly, Poetry, a Magazine of Verse, 
Collier's Weekly, the Saturday Evening Post, 
McClure 's Magazine, the Woman 's World, Every- 
body's Magazine, Contemporary Verse, and the 
Forum, 



PREFACE 

In the last three years the farthest and stillest 
fields of our national life have been stirred by 
the breath of the world-war. 

Now that our American army is in France we 
have been thinking with especial gravity of what 
our country has to send overseas, both from her 
broad-soaring grain-lands and from her spiritual 
resources. 

It is in an attempt to express both something 
of the dream of democracy — her vision of the 
pursuit of happiness — and some of the overland 
ways of the living presence of our country that 
this book has been written. Not because I am 
so presumptuous as to think my songs are ade- 
quate to their great theme, but because I hope that 
a part at least of the pleasure I found in that at- 
tempt may speak in them, I have been glad to 
vii 



Vlll PREFACE 

collect them now, a token of my own sense of our 
overland dream. 

The consciousness of movement over a variety 
of country is probably an element of most Ameri- 
cans' conception of their nation. This conscious- 
ness is indeed I believe our largest common back- 
ground. 

Even if we were to Teave unconsidered every- 
one of foreign birth or fatherhood, and refer 
only to the heritage we call "purely American" 
yet Americans undoubtedly have in so very few 
cases a fixed, local habitation for several genera- 
tions, that if we depended for a love and under- 
standing of our country on the persons devoted 
to her future through the intensity of their pas- 
sion for ancestral acres, we might be rather at 
a loss for national feeling. 

With us this national feeling is not so much 
for the ways of Dove, nor so strongly localized 



PREFACE IX 

and static an emotion as with other peoples. 
Whether for better or worse, our traditions from 
our mothers and fathers, our general memory and 
outlook on our own lives include the realization 
of more than one region, the charm of unity in 
variety, the fusing grace of an overland spirit. 

In our country's thoughts, in her swift-chang- 
ing moods, in her ragged-built cities, the many- 
colored movement of her mesas and arroyos, in 
the profound cadences of her tremendous fresh 
waters, each of us has known, in happy moments, 
the intimate glance, the mysterious and beautiful 
touch of her poetry. 

My songs may never in the world tell to the 

listener the chords that I can hear them singing. 

It is enough if a chance note remind him of some 

song he has himself heard rising in a quiet hour 

from one of these great sources. 

E. F. W. 
Chicago, I'^iy. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

^HE Wind in the Corn i 

The Cup of Life 4 

One for All and All for One .... 6 

To A River God lo 

Niagara iS 

Every Day i8 

Winter Wheat 20 

I'On the Great Plateau 26 

Friendship 30 

An October Evening 31 

The Breath of Life 33 

The Shepherd Day 35 

Summer Hail 38 

An Unknown Country 42 

Sympathy 47 

Overland 50 

Hesperus 54 

A Wayside Fire 56 

A Twilight Tale 59 

April Weather 64 

To F. W 65 

November in the City 68 

An April Quest T^ 

On the Shore ^(i 

An Arizona Wind 79 

xi 



Xll CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Frost on the Pane .82 

The Gypsy Rose 84 

To A City Swallow 87 

The Clover 90 

Huron 92 

The August Sky .94 

Lake Winds 96 

Forest Fire 97 

Nightfall in Arizona ...... lOi 

A Midland Twilight 103 

March Horses 106 

City Whistles 109 

A City Afternoon 112 

City Vespers 115 

A City Equinoctial 119 

Behind the Day 123 



THE WIND IN THE CORN 



THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Far away, far away, someone is going, there — 
Someone invisible, rider and horse: 

Now a sheaf, now a leaf, tipping and blowing, 
bear 
Naught of his tale to me, only his course. 

Riding through lowland corn, riding through 
highland corn. 
Flicking the furrows from seaboard to sea, 
Riding through shoreland, and river-locked is- 
land corn, 
Traveler, traveler, who can you be? 

Yellow the sundown. The bright-terraced val- 
ley-top 



2 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Breathes all in silence: and, still, down the 
vale, 
Far, where the corn- furrows' gold-dappling alleys 
drop 
Answers the traveler, "Brief is my tale." 

"Long have I ridden by cornfield and moorland, 
now; 
Out of the bourn of the morning I came — 
Ridden the fields where the steeps and the shore- 
lands bow 
Heaped with earth's richnesses. Want is my 
name." 

Yellow the twilight. The plume-terraced valley- 
top 
Breathes forth its heart from the black fra- 
grant loam. 
Traveler, when will your long, hungry journey 
stop? 



THE WIND IN THE CORN 3 

When will the bounty of earth be your 
home? 
Tall stands the corn on the lowlands and high- 
lands, now: 
Full-fold and full-fold the bottom-lands leap 
Seaward. The shorelands, the tassel-flocked is- 
lands' prow, 
Wave, and close-serried soar prairie and steep. 

Thousand-rayed, thousand, the gold-dappling al- 
leys swing. 
Comfort me — rock me to peace in their sweep : 
Some day, oh, some day, the horseman will hear 
them sing, 
"Drop your rein, traveler! Rest in my deep!" 



THE CUP OF LIFE 

Of all the vintage in the world 

One single cup of wine, 
One cup of life, one cup of death. 

One destiny is mine. 

Fd not give up that special cup 
My fates have poured for me, 

For any other in all time, 
Nor all eternity. 

For in my time, and in my place 

No foot has stood before. 
My taste of fortune fine or base 

No lips can know of, more. 

So might I choose, I would not lose 
For nectared draughts divine 
4 



THECUPOFLIFE 5 

This deep-splced vintage here and now, 
In mine own place and time. 

Mine be the strength to lift it up 

In pride : drink full and free, 
And, standing, drain the mortal cup 

My fates have poured for me. 



ONE FOR ALL AND ALL FOR ONE 

"Skipper, when will my ship come in? 

Silver and gray and brown 
The cloud-rack rifts and the morning lifts 

Over my trading town. 
Out of the bourn of the break of day 

Flush with the morning star, 
The Hope of my Happiness sailed away 

Over the harbor-bar." 

"Turn hack, turn hack to your trading town, 

Nor imlk on the quay with me. 
For many a ship of dreams goes down 

That sails on the unknown sea 
Turn to work for your luck, nor wait 

In the wind and the misty rime. 
For the only one who may stay for fate 

Is myself: and my name is Time." 



ONEFORALL 7 

"Skipper, when will my ship come in? 

The whistles of noon-day blow. 
The sun bums high in the masted sky. 

The tides and the great winds flow. 
Aught she may bring me, now, I need — 

Silver or gold or tin. 
The trade winds blow and the gulf streams flow. 

When will my ship come in?" 

"When the light of the soul of the day blew down, 

And the morning star throbbed and paled, 
Out of the heart of your trading town 

A m-yriad dream ships sailed. 
Out of the bourn of the break of day, 

Out to the open main. 
Your fathers' and sons' ships sail away. 

And never come back again." 

"Skipper, the evening is clear and white. 
My long day's work is done: 



O THE WIND IN THE CORN 

And over the fort of the harbor height 

I hark for the sunset gun. 
A year and a day and a life ago, 

Out to the wind and the rack, 
Our million desires have sailed away, 

And none of them yet come back. 
But if my ship should come sailing back 

Whatever her cargo be, 
Lade her with iron and rope and jack 

And turn her again to sea. 
And bid her stay till the pulse of day 

Be dead and the stars melt down 
And she bring all our ships that have sailed away, 

Back to our trading town." 

The trade-winds were blowing, the gulf-streams 
were flowing, 

And yellow the flood-touched sun. 
The whole horizon was sail-swept sky, 

When the harbor-mouth shook with the gun : 



ONEFORALL 9 

And gold ships and silver steered proud from the 
West, 

Where in past the harbor bar, 
The Hope of his Happiness rode with the rest. 

Flush with the vesper star. 



TO A RIVER GOD 

There is a river flowing, 

Fast flowing toward the sea; 

Past bluflf and levee blowing, 
His mantle glances free; 

Past pine and corn and cotton-field 
His foam-winged sandals flee. 

From dock and dune and reedy brake, 
Through lock and basin wide. 

Long-linked lagoon and terraced lake 
Drop down to watch his pride, 

And rivers North and rivers South 
To speed his coursing ride. 

Wheat and corn, and corn and wheat. 
Cotton-drift and cane, 

10 



TOARIVERGOD II 

Serried lances rippling fleet. 

Dappled tides of grain. 
Dip beside him where he goes 

Flying to the main. 

By full-sown fields and fallow, 

By furrows green and bluff, 
Past bar and rock-bound shallow, 

His torrent washes gruff. 
By tamarack and mallow. 

Past bottom-land and bluff. 

From highland and from lowland, 

Farm, town, and city see 
His foam-winged footsteps going, 

His mantle blowing free, 
Past dusky mart and black-spired crown. 

Fast flowing to the sea. 

Wheat and corn, and corn and wheat, 
Cotton-drift and cane. 



12 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Serried lances rippling fleet. 

Dappled tides of grain, 
Dip beside him where he goes 

Speeding to the main. 

His foot runs on the ages' bed 
Of gullied cave and rock, 

With bison skull and arrowhead 
His yellow waters lock, 

Past vanished trails and tribal dead 
His fleecing currents flock. 

By bluff and levee blowing, 
By oats and rye unshorn. 

His silver mantle flowing, 

Flicks east and west untorn, 

Unfurling from Itasca to 
Louisiana's horn. 

Wheat and corn, and corn apd wheat. 
Cotton-drift and cane. 



TOARIVERGOD 13 

Serried lances rippling fleet, 

Dappled tides of grain, 
Dip beside him where he goes 

Rushing to the main. 

What tribute, racing spirit, 

What token will you take, 
Through stain and desecration, 

Past town and terraced lake, 
To distant sea and nation 

From cotton, corn, and brake? 

What tribute are you bearing 

Past plain and pluming tree. 
By bluff and levee faring 

On foam-winged footsteps free — 
What beauty for the hold of time. 

And souls unborn, to see? 

Poplar on the Northern steep, 
Cotton-drift and cane, 



14 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Wheat and corn, and corn and wheat. 

Rippled tides of grain, 
Brake and bayou ask of you 

Buoyed toward the main. 

By rock and cavern blowing, 

Flocked field and pluming tree, 

Past bluff and levee going 

On foam-v^^inged footsteps free, 

By rapid, lock, and terraced lake. 
Forever to the sea. 



NIAGARA 

Cool the crystal mist is falling where my song is 
calling, calling 
Over highland, over lowland, fog-blown bluff, 
and bouldered shore : 
Proud my snow-rapt currents leaping from Su- 
perior's green keeping, 
Down from Michigan's gray sweeping toward 
the Rapids' eddied floor. 

Rain, hail, dew, and storm cloud swing me ; from 
the heights the hollows wring me ; 
Filtered clay and field silt bring me silent 
through the dark-breathed loam, 
Down the thousand-terraced highlands till the 
sky-land lake beds wing me — 
15 



l6 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Flying down and down in beauty through the 
chasm's flocking foam. 

Down from Huron, down from Erie, though the 
wild duck's wing grow weary, 
Tribe and nation part and vanish like the spin- 
drift haze of morn, 
Fresh my full-fold song is falling and my voice 
is calling, calling 
Down from far-poured lake and highland as 
I sang when I was born. 

South, North, East, and West untiring speak my 
brother seas in splendor. 
Tell their dominant desiring, claimant over 
coast and main. 
Mine the choiring of a woman's chord immortal, 
of surrender — 
Of the splendor of desiring, deep to give and 
give again. 



NIAGARA 17 

Chord of star-fused loam and silver-surgent lake 
cloud's generation, 
Here I sing the earth's still dreaming down my 
green-poured currents' length, 
Voice of river-rocking valleys, rich heart plains, 
and heights' creation, 
Clear-veiled chord that locked in you your 
mother's life, your father's strength. 

Cool the fog-flocked mists are swinging. Soar, 
my dream; and silver winging, 
Call my air-hung music ringing, toward the 
crystal-buoyed morn — 
Full-fold music from the highlands, where my 
splendor's voice is singing. 
Fresh from flooded shores and sky lands as I 
sang when I was born. 



EVERY DAY 

Every day fresh bread and sweet 
Gladly, thankfully I eat, 
Buttered loaf and crumb and crust 
Given me a child of dust — 
Child of dust though I may be 
Here is joy is meant for me. 

Crystal water every day 
I may drink upon my way. 
Fresh as dews of star-eyed Spring 
Cool as airs the light winds bring — 
Child of dust though I may be 
Here is joy is meant for me. 

Every night the arms of sleep 
Take me to a refuge deep 



EVERYDAY 19 

Some far-off and silent place 
In the utmost caves of space- 
Child of dust though I may be 
Here is joy is meant for me. 

Though I still must strive and cry 
For some lot more fine than I, 
Some far crown of mist or gold, 
Here are gifts of kindly mold — 
Gifts to take on bended knee, 
Joy I know is meant for me. 



WINTER WHEAT 

Riding over height and prairie, when the winter 

hours grew long, 
Once I heard, afar and airy, something loose a 

wayside song. 

Something sang: — "Wind and rain, dance on 

road and street. 
Husked the corn. Ground the grain. Green the 

winter wheat. 
Singing in the sleet! 
Husked the corn, and ground the grain. Green 

the winter wheat! 

Still are flock and field now, over hill and swale ; 

Corn in shock and bield now; cricket hushed 

and quail. 

20 



WINTER WHEAT 21 

Bright alfalfa shut your eyes. Sweet tobacco 

sleep. 
Under stormy-pluming skies, humming watch I 

keep, 
Where the Youhiogheny flows, washing hoarse 

and gruff, 
Where the Alleghany goes, over vale and bluflf, 
All around the frost-furred stables, sheltered 

fleece and horn. 
Icy-splintered fence and gables, crackling hedge 

and thorn. 
Overland, overland, field and pasture sail. 
Down the wold the furrows fold, brown along 

the rail. 
Many-toned through Minnesota, singing in the 

sleet, 
Snowy-furled through cold Dakota, wings the 

winter wheat. 



'2-'2 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Fling it, sow it, East and West, while the frost 

rides forth! 
Oats and barley sleep and rest ! Swing it South 

and North! 
Sow it where the swallows sing, cane and cotton 

sleep ! 
Strow it on the wild-duck's wing up the North- 
ern steep! 
Husked the corn. Ground the grain. Green the 

winter wheat ! 

"Spring-time days, summer ways, verdant leaf 
and dew 

Thrill with countless-chorded praise. Winter 
songs are few. 

Winter songs are few. 

Not alone the storm-wind chills — not the storm- 
wind most — 

But the fog along the hills, creeping damp and 
frost. 



WINTERWHEAT 23 

Who shall like the earth and listen, tell the tune 
her life-time knows, 

Now no dancing tree-tops glisten, now no crystal 
glory blows. 

Through her lesser days, down her muted ways ? 

Let me strow and sing it now, where the wild- 
ducks cry. 

Swift arise and answer now, full and proudly, 

7/ 

I, the zvinter wheat, singing in the sleet! 

I will hear her. I will hearken; past the fogs 

and battling snozvs 

Bring through hours that dim or darken, what 
the heart of winter knows; 

Swinging through the storm-wind's soaring, sing- 
ing through the ice-cut gale. 

Through the tempests thick, out-pouring over 
farthest height and swale. 

Through her muted days, down her lesser ways, 



24 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

East and West, North and South, deeply sing and 

call, 
Overland and overland and in and through it 

all — 
Every dreariness and blast, through it all and to 

the last!'" 

As I rode through twilight's pjortal, while the 

winter hours grew long, 
Once the voice of love immortal sang my soul 

a wayside song. 
Let my day in dark be ended, let the fates at 

last defeat. 
Down the roads of rapture splendid, I have 

heard the winter wheat. 
Fling it, sow it. East and West, while the frost 

rides forth ! 
Oats and barley sleep and rest. Swing it South 

and North! 



WINTER WHEAT 25 

Sow it where the swallows sing, cane and cotton 
sleep ! 

Strow it on the wild-duck's wing up the North- 
em steep! 

Husked the corn. Ground the grain. Green the 
winter wheat! 



ON THE GREAT PLATEAU 

In the Santa Clara Valley, far away and far 
away, 

Cool-breathed waters dip and dally, linger to- 
wards another day. 

Far and far away — far away. 

Slow their floating step but tireless, terraced 
down the Great Plateau. 

Towards our ways of steam and wireless, silver- 
paced the brook-beds go. 

Past the ladder-walled Pueblos, past the orch- 
ards, pear and quince, 

Where the gate-locked rivers' ebb flows, miles 
and miles the valley glints. 

Shining backwards, singing downwards, towards 

horizons blue and bay : 
26 



ON THE GREAT PLATEAU 27 

All the roofs the roads ensconce so dream of 

visions far away — 
Santa Cruz and Ildefonso, Santa Clara, Santa 

Fe. 
Ancient, sacred fears and faiths, ancient, sacred 

faiths and fears — 
Some were real, some were wraiths — Indian, 

Franciscan years. 
Built the Khivas, swung the bells, while the wind 

sang plain and free 
"Turn your eyes from visioned hells! Look as 

far as you can see!" 
In the Santa Clara valley far away and far away. 
Dying dreams divide and dally, crystal-terraced 

waters sally — 
Linger towards another day, far and far away — 

far away. 
As you follow where you find them, up along the 

high Plateau, 



28 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

In the hollows left behind them, Spanish chapels 

fade below — 
Shaded court and low corrals. In the vale the 

goatherd browses. 
Hollyhocks are seneschals by the little buff- 
walled houses. 
Over grassy swale and alley have you ever seen 

it so — 
Up the Santa Clara Valley, riding on the Great 

Plateau ? 
Past the ladder-walled Pueblos, past the orchards, 

pear and quince, 
Where the trenched waters' ebb flows, miles and 

miles the valley glints, 
Shining backwards, singing downwards towards 

horizons blue and bay. 
All the haunts the bluffs ensconce so breathe of 

visions far away, 



ON THE GREAT PLATEAU 29 

As you ride near Ildefonso, back again to Santa 

Fe. 
Pecos, mellow with the years — tall-walled Taos 

— who can know 
Half the storied faiths and fears haunting green 

New Mexico? 
Only, from her open places, down arroyos blue 

and bay. 
One wild grace of many graces dallies towards 

another day, 
Where her yellow tufa crumbles, something stars 

and grasses know, 
Something true that crowns and humbles shim- 
mers from the Great Plateau : 
Blows where cool-paced waters dally from the 

stillness of Puye, 
Down the Santa Clara Valley through the world 

from far away — 
Far and far away — far away. 



FRIENDSHIP 

Not mine are purple muscadine, 

Green wine and precious salve. 
I bring a token more divine 

And give you what I have. 
My roof, my road, my life's abode, 

The winds that scent my day, 
My fire-light's shade, my fig-tree's load 

Are yours upon your way. 
But ask no foregone beauty. 

Nor money, musk nor wine : 
Nor call the name of duty. 

Of stuff far more divine. 
The gladness in whose name I'll give 

You anything that's mine. 



30 



AN OCTOBER EVENING 

Cicada notes repeating light, the field-winds full 
and mellow, 

And chording crickets keep tonight my still- 
roofed country town. 

Fler sprinkled turf breathes sweet tonight. Her 
even lamps bloom yellow 

Along the leafy street tonight, broad-shadowed, 
fresh and brown. 

A step comes down the highway; a step goes 

down the by-way 
From Thursday night towards Friday, down my 

dark-roofed country town — 
Walks free towards far tomorrows, unguessed 

success and sorrows 
31 



32 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Along the gabled street tonight, all velvet-ridged 
and brown. 

Cicada chords and crickets keep still time. Burn, 

lamps, burn yellow. 
Breathe, prairie fragrance cool tonight, from 

wide-rolled swale and down. 
Blow, highland wind. Blow, lowland wind. Rise, 

marsh-wind, rich and mellow. 
I think my country's soul tonight walks through 

my country town. 



THE BREATH OF LIFE 

The gift of life was given me, 
More wonderful than earth or sea, 
Than cloud or star of changing skies 
Where night and day resplendent rise — 
The gift of life. 

A thousand colors flash and glow, 
A thousand odors waft and blow; 
Oir harsh or soft or crystal clear, 
A thousand notes sound far and near — 
The gift of life. 

To work, to sleep, to work again. 
Rejoice and laugh and suffer pain 
Is mine: to know in bliss or ruth 
The splendor of the real truth — 
The gift of life. 
33 



34 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Although that time at last must come 
When all sweeps past me blank and dumb 
And I untouched as shard or stone; 
Perhaps forever — yet I've known 
The gift of life. 



THE SHEPHERD DAY 

The silver-hooded morning 

Spoke freshly to my heart 
From some high misty pasture-land 

Where cool leaves blew apart. 
I saw his cloak glance on the strand 

Past cobbled street and mart. 

"I crni the shepherd mormng, 

I am the shepherd day 
Come, foot and soul, and walk with me 

Wherever runs the way, 
By dusty road and green-cropped lea. 

Through weather clear and gray." 

"O fleet- foot morning, mock not me; 
Too swift you speed apace. 
35 



3^ THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Drop your adorning down for me 
And let me see your face — 

Now I have crossed with you till noon 
The meads and steeps of space." 

"Divine am I, your master. 
The day of life you'll live. 

Come faster and come faster on 
And take the roads I give." 

And down the craggy pass I saw 
His mantle fugitive. 

The river frogs were calling "Hark!" 
And bush and sward and mold 

Were blue and stark with dew and dark 
And fragrant in the cold. 

Half sheltered in a byre unsought 
We found a wayside fold. 

Then backward glanced my master day, 
And as he turned apace 



THE SHEPHERD DAY 37 

His hooded mantle dropped away 

With free and random grace; 
And only when my guide was gone 

I looked upon his face. 

Far m a mountain pasture-land 

I heard his footsteps go 
Among the sapphire-terraced stars, 

The night's wide dark and snow. 
Ahead he dropped my welkin's bars 

To fields I could not know. 

"I am the shepherd morning, 

I am the shepherd day 
Come, foot and soul, and walk with me 

Wherever runs the way. 
By rocky road and green-cropped lea. 

Through weather clear and gray." 



SUMMER HAIL 

Once the heavens' gabled door 

Opened: down a stabled floor, 

Down the thunders, something galloped far and 

wide, 
Glancing far and fleet 
Down the silver street — 
And I knew of nothing, nothing else beside. 

Pitty patty polt— 

Shoe the wild colt! 

Here a nail! There a nail! 

Pitty patty polt! 

Good and badness, die away. 
Strength and swiftness down the day, 
38 



SUMMERHAIL 39 

Dapple happy down my glancing silver street ! 
Oh, the touch of summer cold! — 
Beauty swinging quick and bold, 
Dipping, dappling where the distant roof-tops 
meet! 

Pitty patty polt — 

Shoe the wild colt! 

Listen, dusty care: 

Through a magic air, 

Once I watched the way of perfect splendor ride, 

Swishing far and gray, 

Buoyant and gay — 

And I knew of nothing, nothing else beside. 

Good and badness, go your ways, 

Vanish far and fleet. 

Strength and swiftness run my days, 

Down my silver street. 



40 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Little care, forevermore 
Be you lesser than before. 

Mighty frozen rain, 

Come ! oh, come again ! 

Let the heavens' door be rended 

With the touch of summer cold — 

Dappling hoof -beats clatter splendid, 

Infinitely gay and bold! 

Pitty patty polt — 

Shoe the wild colt! 

Here a nail and there a nail! 

Pitty patty polt! 

Once the heavens' gabled door 

Opened : down the stabled floor, 

Down the thunders, something galloped wide and 

far ; 
Something dappled far and fleet. 
Glancing down my silver street, 



SUMMERHAIL 4I 

And I saw the ways of life just as they are. 
Pitty patty polt. 
Shoe the wild colt! 
Here a nail! There a nail! 
Pitty patty polt! 



AN UNKNOWN COUNTRY 

I 

Where do I go 

Down roads of sleep, 

Behind the blue-brimmed day? 

No more I know her silvered sweep 

Nor colors clear nor gray, 

Nor women's ways 

Nor those of men, 

Nor blame, nor praise. 

Where am I, then? 

II 

Oh, fragrantly 

The airs of earth arise 

In waking hours of light, 

While vagrantly 

42 



"AN UNKNOWN COUNTRY 43 

Sea symphonies 

Of changing sound surprise; 

Till for a space one goes 

Beyond the salt and snows 

And claimant tides along the wide-stretched 

beach, 
Beyond the last, faint reach 
Of odor, sight and sound, far forth — far forth — 
Where neither South nor North 
Points down the roads unguessed, 
Where East is not, nor West; 
At night down roads of sleep. 
Of dreamless sleep. 

Past all the compassed ways the reason tells 
To unknown citadels. 

in 

Just as one turns, and while day's dusk-breathed 
blue 



44 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

And music, many-dappled merge in flight, 
Half in a dream, one finds a tale is true 
That down one's memory sings, still and light. 
Just as the spirit turns. 
Half-dreaming one discerns 
Deeply the tale is true 
That long ago one knew : 
Of how a mermaid loved a mortal knight; 
And how, unless she died, she still must change, 
And leave his human ways, and go alone 
At intervals where seas unfathomed range 
Through coral groves around the ocean's throne, 
Where cool-armed mermaids dive through crys- 
tal hours, 
And braid their streaming hair with pearls, and 

sing 
Among the green and clear-lit water flowers. 
The lucent splendors of their ocean king. 



AN UNKNOWN COUNTRY 45 



IV 



Like hers our ways on earth, 
Who, from our day of birth. 
Would die, unless we slept — 
Must die, unless for hours, 
Beyond our senses' powers, 
Down soundless space we leapt. 



Beyond the deepest roll 
Of pain's and rapture's sweep, 
Where goes the human soul 
That vanishes in sleep? 

VI 

Down dreamless paths unguessed, beyond the 

senses' powers, 
Beyond the breath of fragrance, sound and light, 



46 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

As once through crystal, unremembered hours 

The mermaid dived who loved a mortal knight, 

Far forth — far forth — 

Beyond the South or North, 

Past all the compassed ways the day has shown, 

To live divine and deep at night down roads of 

sleep, 
In citadels unknown. 



SYMPATHY 

As one within a moated tower, 

I lived my life alone; 
And dreamed not other granges' dower, 

Nor ways unlike mine own. 
I thought I loved. But all alone 

As one within a moated tower 
I lived. Nor truly knew 

One other mortal fortune's hour. 
As one within a moated tower, 

One fate alone I knew. 
Who hears afar the break of day 

Before the silvered air 
Reveals her hooded presence gray. 

And she, herself, is there? 
47 



48 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

I know not how, but now I see 

The road, the plain, the pluming tree, 
The carter on the wain. 

On my horizon wakes a star. 
The distant hillsides wrinkled far 

Fold many hearts' domain. 
On one the fire-worn forests sweep, 

Above a purple mountain-keep 
And soar to domes of snow. 

One heart has swarded fountains deep 
Where water-lilies blow : 

And one, a cheerful house and yard, 
With curtains at the pane, 

Board-walks down lawns all clover- 
starred, 
And full-fold fields of grain. 

As one within a moated tower 
I lived my life alone; 

And dreamed not other granges' dower 



SYMPATHY 49 

Nor ways unlike mine own. 

But now the salt-chased seas uncurled 
And mountains trooped with pine 

Are mine. I look on all the world 
And all the world is mine. 



OVERLAND 

Overland, overland, sings the rail, 

Riding from sea to sea. 
The stars sink down past the dv^indled town 

And pale through the flying tree. 
The daystars sink; and the morning's brink 

Brims through the cinders' flail. 
Overland, overland, swings the sun; 

Overland rings the rail. 
Cut away, cut away, curve through the ridge 

Sapphire before, next the sky. 
The cool-buoyed river-chords call through the 
bridge 

Where the river's arms wave goodby. 

Through the shantied day on the right-of-way, 

By the roundhouse roof, pebbly and tarred, 
50 



OVERLAND 5^ 

Ring your bell, swing your bell, pace and 
tell 

Your tale through the switch-veined yard. 
Midland, my midland, her grain-flickered down 

Passes, and dairy-town dale — 
Prairie-town swale, soaring free and brown — 

Overland swings the rail. 
Overland, overland, overland, fly! 

Upward and upward, ride! 
Cry from the rock to the crystal sky, 

High on the Great Divide! 
Down, circling down, turn the racketing brake 

By the rainbow-striped desert's gleam — 
Whinnying pony, wash dry and stony, 

Moqui's and Navajo's dream. 
Past, as the yesterday's daybreak rack 

The silver scarred cave-cliff's bar. 
Heliotrope, heliotrope, folded back 

Mesa-land dips afar. 



52 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Down to the sea spreads the clear plaided green 
Of the reservoir's cloak unfurled — 

Oh! why should a myriad lives be mean 
In such a magnificent world? 

The nerves of my country's wide work and 
way 

And the nerves of her life are steel. 
They can pulse. They can move. In another's 
day, 

At last they will know and feel. 
From a shore unknown to an unknown shore— 

Our journey is over and done. 
Gold pours the light on the ocean's floor. 

Hark to the sunset gun ! 
For our gods, and their human sacrifice, 

Will flash like the Aztec's dream 
Past by the path of the thing that flies 

On with a nameless gleam. 



OVERLAND S3 

Overland, overland, swings the rail, 

Riding from sea to sea. 
The stars sink down past the dwindled town 

And pale through the flying tree. 
The daystars sink, and tomorrow's brink 

Brims through the cinders' flail. 
Overland, overland, sings the sun! 

Overland throbs the rail! 



HESPERUS 

The Vesper star that quivers there, 
A wonder in the darkening air, 
Still holds me longing for the height 
And splendor of the full of night. 

Come, quiet night. The day's blue bars 
Have dropped and let out all the stars 
To flock through heaven till the light. 
The day is done. Come, quiet night. 

Come, quiet night. My day is done — 
My little day of work and fun; 
I'm tired. Hold me close and light 
In your wide silence, quiet night. 
54 



HESPERUS 55 

So, when I see day's last blue spark, 
My prides, my shames, my work, grow dark, 
And still is all life's wrong and right, 
Deep may I know the perfect night. 



A WAYSIDE FIRE 

The day was cold along the road ; and heart and 

foot did tire. 
We stopped a while. We loosed the load, and 

built a wayside fire. 
Hot soup we had, and cheese and bread — a bit to 

sup and eat. 
Sing, blue flame, blue! Sing, red flame, red! 

The juniper burned sweet. 
And always, always, always hence, when fainting 

spirits tire, 
I wish that we would have the sense to stop and 

light a fire. 
Along the road, along the road, down pours the 

glancing rain. 

But easily I lift my load, now I am warm again. 
56 



AWAYSIDEFIRE 57 

For I have heard inside the fire the song the wild- 
bird knows, ' 

And watched dry sticks from brake and byre 
bloom in a golden rose — 

Flame in a fragrant, golden rose, a crimson light, 
a praise. 

Stream, happy fires, and smoking snows, and sing 
me all your blaze! 

"Flame in a praise? What praise?" you say. 
The dark will come, you know. 

Along the road, along the road, where you and 
I shall go — 

Hard frost and rust, dank heat and must, dead 
sticks and winds that tire. 

Then, let us light by all this dust, the splendors 
we admire! 

And hear the airs that course great hearts, and 
talk of islands far. 



58 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Of glory, comfort, richest arts, and those best 

things we are! 
Along the road, along the road, down pours the 

glancing rain. 
But easily I lift my load, now I am warm again. 
For I have heard inside the fire, the song the 

wildbird knows. 
And watched dry sticks from brake and byre 

blaze in a golden rose. 



A TWILIGHT TALE 

The little winds of twilight 

Ran down their silver hill. 
"Come home," they said, "my darling. 

The night is fresh and still — 
So still," they said, "my darling. 

Those distant calls are clear 
That in the clanging day-time 

Were far and dim to hear." 
My yellow-wimpling day-time 

Had passed me fast and free 
With sparkled bells and play-time 

And cryings from the sea. 
With haste and waste and worrying 

And working in the sun, 
I'd hardly harked, for hurrying. 

Before my day was done. 
59 



6o THE WIND IN THE CORN 

"For you we've lit the fire, dear, 

Of peaty earth and dew. 
With quicker hands than hire, dear, 

We've swept the hearth for you. 
For you we've spread the supper-cloth, 

Refresh and rest you deep. 

Creation is your home, dear, 

For work and play and sleep." 

The crystal air of happiness 

Flew where their voices cried — 
The winds that slipped their hands in mine, 

Swift running by my side. 
"Oh, think no more of bad and good ! 

The broad-spread night is blue. 
Our souls are brook-springs through the wood. 

Our step is dark-lit dew : 
And dust that makes the prairie: 

And dust that makes the stars. 



A TWILIGHT TALE 6l 

And makes your soul we whisper to 

By night-fall's gray-dropped bars. 
Creation is your home, dear: 

The seacoast's salt-chased dark: 
The fragrant grass and loam, dear; 

And all the tides that hark; 
The city spires, the city heights ; 

Black earth and fire and foam ; 
The silent hillside's scattered lights — > 

Creation is your home." 

Oh happiness— oh happiness. 

You ran so far away, 
I thought your tune had passed my heart 

With sunset and the day — 
The yellow-wimpled daytime 

That ran so fast and free, 
With sparkled bells and play-time, 

And cryings from the sea, 



62 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

With pain and stain and worrying 

And working in the sun. 
But now I know that happiness 

Speaks when the day is done : 
And still and deep, by plain and steep, 

By city wall and dome 
The sister winds of twilight sing 

"Creation is your home — 
For work and play and sleep," they sing 

Along their silver hill. 
"Come home," they call, "my darling. 

The night is fresh and still. 
So still," they say, "my darling. 

Those distant calls are clear, 
That in the clanging day-time 

Were far and dim to hear. 
Oh, think no more of bad and good ! 

The broad-spread night is blue. 



A TWILIGHT TALE 63 

Our souls are brook-springs through the wood. 

Our step is clear-touched dew : 
Anii dust that makes the prairie : 

And dust that makes the stars, 
And makes your soul we whisper to, 

By night-fall's gray-dropped bars." 



APRIL WEATHER 

If you could have a perfect day 

To dream of when your life were done, 
Would you choose one all clear, all gay, 

If you could have a perfect day — 
The airs above the wide green way 

Sheer virgin blue with crystal sun, 
If you could have a perfect day 

To dream of when your life were done ? 

Or would you have it April's way 
Haphazard rain, haphazard sun. 

Divine and sordid, clear and gray, 

Dyed like these hours' own craft and play. 

All shot with stains of tears and clay. 
Haphazard pain, haphazard fun — 

If you could have a perfect day 

To dream of when your life were done? 
64 



TO F. W. 

You are my companion, 
Down the silver road, 
Still and many-changing, 
Infinitely changing. 
You are my companion. 

Something sings in lives — 
Days of walking on and on- 
Deep beyond all singing, 
Wonderful past singing. 

Wonderful our road, 
Long and many-changing, 
Infinitely changing. 
This, more wonderful — 
65 



66 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

We are here together, 
You and I together, 
I am your companion. 
You are my companion. 
My own, true companion. 

Let the roadside fade — 
Morning on the mountain-top 
Hours along the valley, 
Days of walking on and on 
Pulse away in silence, 
In eternal silence. 
Let the world all fade 
Break and pass away. 
Yet will this remain. 
Deep beyond all singing, 
My own true companion. 
Beautiful past singing. 



TO F. W. 67 

We were here together — 
On this earth together. 
I was your companion. 
You were my companion, 
My own true companion. 



NOVEMBER IN THE CITY 



To-night the rain blows down from misty places 
Above the roof-tops where the pigeons fly: 
And quick the steps ; intent, the city's faces 
That say that we must hurry — you and I. 
Oh, why ? So much speeds through this twilight 

rain-time, 
That's not worth keeping up with, By-and-by 
We'll wonder why we always knew the train- 
time, 
And yet knew not November — ^you and I. 

II 

In quiet let us hark. Not till we listen 

Shall any song arise for you and me ; 
68 



NOVEMBER IN THE CITY 69 

Nor ever this broad-stippling music glisten 

Twice-told at twilight down the city sea. 

The fog-horns call. The lake-winds rush. Jast 
lately 

I watched the city lights bloom star on star 

Along the streets : and terrace-spaced and stately 

Touch moated height and coronet afar. 

November's winds blow towards the garnered 
grain-land. 

Blue-buoyed all the shepherd whistles bay: 

And flocking down Chicago's dusk-barred main- 
land 

The steam and fog-fleeced mists run, buflf and 
gray. 

Silence and sound. Wide echoes. Rain-dropped 
spaces. 

Deep-rumbling dray and dipping trolley car. 

Steps multitudinous and countless faces. 

Along the cloudy street, lit star on star. 



7° THE WIND IN THE CORN 
III 

Oh, had you thought that only woods and oceans 
Were meant to speak the truth to you and me — 
That only tides' and stars' immortal motions 
Said we are part of all eternity? 
The rains that fall and fly in silver tangent, 
The passing steps, the fogs that die and live, 
These chords that pale and darken, hushed and 

plangent 
Sing proud the praise of splendors fugitive. 
For fleet-pulsed mists, and mortal steps and 

faces 
More move me than the tides that know no 

years — 
And music blown from rain-swept human places 
More stirs me than the stars untouched with 

tears. 
I think that such a night as this has never 



NOVEMBER IN THE CITY 7^ 

Sung argent here before: and not again 
With all these tall-roofed intervals that sever 
These streets and corners, etched with lamp-lit 

rain 
Tell just this cool-thrilled tale of Midland spaces 
And lake-bom mists, that black-lined building's 

prow 
That cuts the steam, this dream in peopled places 
That sings its deep-breathed beauty here and 

now. 

IV 

November winds wing towards the garnered 
grain-land. 

The city lights have risen. Proud and free, 

Far music swinging down the dusk-barred main- 
land 

Cries we are part of all eternity. 

Let me remember, let me rise and sing it! 



72 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

For Others may the mountains be the sign, 
Sun, stars, the wooded earth, the seas that ring it, 
Of melody immortal. Here is mine. 
This night when rain blows down through Mid- 
land spaces 
And lake-born mists. A black-lined building's 

prow 
That cuts the steam. A dream in peopled places 
That sings its deep-breathed beauty here and 
now. 



AN APRIL QUEST 

Oh, once I heard an April wind 
On hill-top, plain and lea, 

"Drop all that ties your foot, behind; 
And follow, foHozv me." 

"I breathe the breath of vanished snows. 

The combing clouds I ride. 
In wild-Hotver woods my spirit blows. 

Oh, follozu swift beside.'^ 
By flood-lapped bluff and dipping boom 

I walked the highland plain: 
And fresh arose the earth's perfume 

And cool dropped down the rain. 

And happy, happy, happy, I 

Beyond my thought or guess 
73 



74 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Who chased beneath the changing sky 
My unfound happiness. 

For veiled and far the early star: 

And scattered far and pale 
Hepatica and dogtooth are 

On April shore and trail. 

By black-turned loam, by white flocked foam, 
Where winds and water streamed, 

I never found to carry home 

The very flowers I dreamed. 

More, more than what I missed or found, 

The open-vaulted day, 
The river chords, the fragrant ground. 

The wind's wide voice and way — 

"Oh, follow, follow, follow me 
My pulses run and leap 



ANAPRILQUEST 75 

By valley, plain a]nd up-land lea 
By foam-lapped bluff and steep. 

"I breathe the breath of vanished snows 

Of valid rose sprays unborn 
Through cloud-racks cool my foot-step goes 

Where high-swung mists are torn." 

Down April roads, the rain-dropped wind 
Ran coursing fresh and free. 

"Oh, reck not what you lose or find. 
But follow, follow me." 



ON THE SHORE 

Gray the day and airy. 

Rain clouds swing and climb. 
Tarry, spirit, tarry: 

Tarry, tarry, time. 
Light your footsteps fall for me 

Walking on the shore. 
Cool and still you call to me. 

Call me evermore. 
Toward the morning, toward the main, 

Toward Saint Lawrence Bay, 
Toward the daybreak's silver wain 

Dips the water's way. 
Tree-top, tree-top, in the wind, 

Flag-flower, swamp, and brakes, 

Rapids fleet as hart and hind, 
76 



ONTHESHORE 77 

Linked and dappling lakes, 
Dune and mist and rain-touched lea — 

Spirit on the shore, 
Cool and still you call to me, 

Call me evermore. 
All the world's my halidome, 

At your step divine, 
All the earth mine own free home. 

Winds and waters mine. 
Mine the misty morning. 

Sun-cloud, hail, and rime. 
Tarry, spirit, tarry: 

Tarry, tarry, time. 
Mine to see the poplar quiver 

In the ether's sweep; 
Mine to hark to lake and river 

Buoyed toward the deep. 
Mine Arcturus airy 

In his starry prime. 



78 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Tarry, spirit, tarry: 

Tarry, tarry time. 
Mine to walk in glory 

Down the night and day, 
Walk past breath, past life, past death, 

Down creation's way. 
Would that through my lesser hours 

Full your cry would carry. 
Tarry, tarry, time for me : 

Tarry, spirit, tarry. 
In your voice I'd fain rejoice 

Deeply evermore, 
Walking through my life divine, 

Walking on the shore. 



AN ARIZONA WINH 

The canyon wind blows high and low. 

Her voice calls fresh and deep. 
From mesa, bluff and blue plateau 

Her pine-brushed currents sweep, 
Down turquoise ledge and valley 

And thousand-terraced height 
Past opal drop and alley 

And fawn-veiled stairs of light. 

Of sheep-land, and of cattle-land 
She whispers still and swift. 

Her flight has fanned the painted sand 
Green spur and lilac drift, 

Leapt river-bed and rapid-head 
Down tawny crags and buff, 
79 



8o THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Paced caverned gulches dark and red 
And hundred-portaled bluflf. 

Her touch stirred pine and piiion ways 

Before the foot of man. 
In Navajo dominion days 

Through peopled cliffs she ran. 
As soon as star and shadow sped. 

Before the first green tree. 
Before the Colorado fled, 

Her soul turned towards the sea. 

Oh, manifold and manifold 

The canyon drops away: 
And far the desert shimmers old 

As night, and young as day: 
And wide and free your music plays. 

So dumb, so fully heard, 
Like ocean tides and human ways 

That speak without a word. 



AN ARIZONA WIND 

What are you many-chording wind 

And what is it you say, 
As light as life, as light as death, 

Across the vibrant day? 
So high you blow, so low you blow — 

And yet so close and deep, 
I hardly know from my own breath 

The hushing air you keep. 

I hardly know from my own breath 

Your breath of sage and pine. 
My fault, my force, my dream, my death 

Throb in your life divine — 
Divine as desert dust, the rock 

In sapphire depths below 
The vanished clif^man and the flock 

Far on the blue plateau. 



THE FROST ON THE PANE 

Upon my glass at daybreak 
Breathe star-built bluff 
and byre 

And fir and fern and forest 
Olf incandescent fire. 

Compelling cloud and mistral, 
That changed the air afar, 

Locked close that lea of crystal 
And wrought its every star. 

What fused ten million crystals 

In just that bluff and lea. 

Fates far as clouds and mistrals, 

Made what I am of me. 
82 



THE FROST ON THE PANE 83 

Gone fir and frond and forest 
And vanished blue and byre 

When through my glass at noon- 
day 
I see the sky's blue fire. 

And light and still I wonder 

To think of time when I 
Shall be as ether under 

The splendor of the sky. 



THE GYPSY ROSE 

In deep black loam, and sward serene 

Inside a watered close, 
In crimson airs and leafage green 

There bloomed a garden rose. 

"Come, love," I heard her sing and say, 
Inside her garden wall — 

"Or I may live my life away, 
And not be loved at all." 

Green winds and waters threw on her 
Their joy for long and long 

A week and more they blew on her 
Their peace, and heard her song. 



THEGYPSYROSE 85 

A breath beyond the garden spray, 

Outside the garden close. 
High, on the roadside's chance estray 

There soared a pale wild rose. 

"Oh, let me fling my fragrance far, 

And let me live and sing 
For clovered mist and common star, 

And every passing thing — 
This traveled way, the dust, the dray. 

The barbed and stone-piled wall — 
Or else I might have died today 

And not have loved at all." 



My whole heart filled : my pulses thrilled 
Quick, as her singing sped. 

But when, next day, I went her way, 
The roadside rose was dead. 



86 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

My garden's green is ash and mold. 

My garden rose is gray; 
Her crimson song forgot and cold; 

Her fragrance, blown away. 

But singing flushed through frost and 
must. 

And soaring through the snows. 
Above all winds' and fortunes' dust, 

I hear the roadside rose. 



TO A CITY SWALLOW 

Over the height of the house-top sea, silver and 

blue and gray, 
A swallow Hies, in my city skies, and cries of my 

city May. 

Up from the South, swallow, fly to the North, 
over the roof-top miles, 

The pillaring stacks, and the steam-cloud racks, 
and the telegraph's argent files. 

Rich man's and poor man's and beggarman's 
town, odors of pine and pitch. 

Marbles and chalk on the hop-scotch walk, and 
racketing rail and switch. 

Over a thousand close-housed streets with a mil- 
lion steps arow, 

87 



oo THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Where the nurses walk and the children talk and 

the light-gowned women go — 
Dock-roof, and dive-roof, and prison-house-roof, 

pebbled and buff and brown. 
Cry me the manifold souls' abodes, and the roads 

of my trading town. 
For more to me is my house-top sea, where your 

hooked wings fall and soar, 
Than all of the echoes you trail for me of your 

Spring on a woodland shore. 
Oh, care- free, you flew to the crocused North, 

when the breath of the first Spring woke, 
And not of the ways of the jasmine far, but the 

hours that are, you spoke ; 
And, free, as you flew to the melting North, a 

myriad Springs ago, 
A myriad more, and a myriad more will buoy 

you swift from the snow, 



TO A CITY SWALLOW 89 

To cry of the stir of the hours that are, as you 

cry through my day to me — 
Through the amethyst of the bright-whirled mist, 

over a roof-top sea. 
Where some window will open, afar, afar, and 

some womam look out and say, 
"A swallow Hies in my city skies and cries of 

my city May." 



THE CLOVER 

The clover's grassy breath 
To him who Hsteneth 

Upon the pastured lea, 
Is like the monotone 
Of some far sheep-bell, blown 

From tranquil Arcady, 

The airs of that last rose 
That late and crimson blows 

And frosted dies, 
Smell, as in green and dew. 
The first, first rose that blew 

In waking Paradise. 

What fragrance, ages hence 

Shall tell the listening sense 

Oi men who guess — 
90 



THECLOVER pi 

Men whose far lives shall range 
On paths remote and strange^ 
Our happiness? 



HURON 

Oh, perfect beauty, grave and deep, 
And pulsing in the sapphire sky, 

Except in full-whelmed hours of sleep. 
Where else in living do you lie? 

Where else but in far tarns of sleep. 
Blue fire of beauty, proud and deep? 

From crystal keeps and bed-rock springs 

Cerulean the waters blow 
Where purple-furling Huron flings 

Past island pines her folds of snow : 
And proud and deep the welling foam 

Breathes cool the breath of my still home. 

The breath of my immortal home, 

Of perfect beauty here for me, 
92 



HURON 93 

Beyond the questing rivers' foam, 
Beyond the surging of the sea — 

Sheer, silent beauty proud and deep. 
As pulsing skies and perfect sleep. 



THE AUGUST SKY 

Sparkling in splendor, the Kite and the Dipper 
Crossed the black welkin, and Scorpio's star 

Lit on the runway stag, herdsman and skipper, 
When I was dust, perhaps, bed-rock or spar. 

Dust, fire, or dew, or the wind of the morning, 
Foam of some seacoast unknown, on the deep, 

Somewhere I lived in creation's adorning, 
Still, on the nights when Joan walked with her 
sheep. 

What was I dreaming and where did I wander. 
All through the Augusts before I could know? 

Crystal the Archer swept high over yonder : 
Close to the zenith burned Vega's blue snow. 
.'94 



THE AUGUST SKY 95 

Glory on glory the night's coronation 
Circled the heavens before I was born — 

Shone while I slept in the soul of creation 
Somewhere when Ruth wept for home in the 
corn. 

Glory on glory the night's coronation 
Throbbed in a beauty past dream and desire, 

Proud as I slept in the soul of creation, 
Breath of the morning or bed-rock or fire. 



LAKE WINDS 

Keen, fleet and cool, on your silver-breathed way, 
Whirling the cirrus-cloud, brushing the mire. 

Far down the roads of the night and the day. 
Sing me the name of my proudest desire. 

Midland wind, inland wind, buoying low, 
Flying on Michigan's gray-dappled deep, 

Swing me the strength and the splendor you 
know 
Once, ere the hour of my infinite sleep. 

Fling them but once to me — once let me go 

Straight to some goal through all mist or all 

mire. 

Knowing no thought but to live, as you blow. 

Free in the name of my proudest desire. 
96 



FOREST FIRE 

Deep my dreaming, fresh my waking 

Furled in fragrant leaf and mold, 
When the brumal mists are quaking 

In the crimson-kindling cold. 
In the scraggy copse I smolder. 

Swarthy brush and red-tipped thorn. 
In the dank-edged leaves I molder, 

Switch the shock and light the corn. 
On the yellow-rippling river, 

By the wood-pool's reeded edge, 
Fleet my dappling shadows quiver 

Over auburn brake and sedge. 
By the lake and sandy shallow 

Where the lonely trees aspire, 
And the shingled shores reach sallow 
97 



98 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Fiercely burns my tawny fire — 
Lights the poplar solitary 

Proud upon her windy dune 
On a shore afar and faery — 

Misted foam and calling loon. 
Scarlet, fawn and gold my gleaming, 

Full my music wide and still. 
Through September smoke far-streaming 

Fast I run down road and hill, 
Crying "Follow, follow, follow!" 

Tipping tree-tops tan and black, 
Singing with the Southward swallow 

As I flick the tamarack. 
Free I blaze down mapled mountains, 

Course the earth's veins black and deep, 
Spray the birches' golden fountains. 

Richly fleece ridge, bluff and steep. 
Swift by wide-spaced slopes and regal 

Swings my spark's far-flying flail. 



FORESTFIRE 99 

Flying high as hawk and eagle, 

Low as runs the freckled quail. 
Hop-vine, oak-vine, wood-bine sweeping, 

Trail and road-side bronze and brown; 
Wide my leaping, close my reaping, 

Door-yard, eaves, and country-town. 
Brown and red and bronze my gleaming 

Full my music broad and fleet. 
Through October clouds full-creaming 

Down the mist-smoked city street — 
Crying, "Follow, follow, follow!" 

Where the straight-spaced tree-tops plume 
Singing with the Southward swallow, 

And the brown leaves' rustled flume. 
Vine-hung lintel, porch-pale, alley 

Square and scattered streak of grass, 
Cities of the plain and valley 

Smoke and mantle as I pass, 
Crying "Follow, follow, follow!" 



lOO THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Over tree-top, mire and moor, 
Singing with the Southward swallow. 

In the tide of my glamour. 
One to me are shrine and alley, 

Sacred grove and eaves of shame, 
Mire-edged road and soaring valley 

In my splendor's common flame — 
Common, common, like the glory 

Of the proud-piled Autumn skies 
Where the rich winds blow their story, 

"Every soul is born and dies !" 
Deep my flame sings "Follow, follow !" 

Down the splendor of my way, 
Flying with the Southward swallow 

Through the great year's passing day. 
Through October, through September, 

Till at last my burning breath 
Throbs to silence in December — 

In the speechless snow of Death. 



NIGHTFALL IN ARIZONA 

Black blows the cottonwood. Coolness abiding 
Thrills in the air with the snow of the stars. 

Navajo, Navajo, where are you riding? 

Clear breathes the night on the plains' opal 
bars. 

Long past the desert, the creek dry and stony, 
Fleet on your trail towards the mountains' 
dark rim, 

Far, far away cries your whinnying pony 
High on the mesa's empurpling brim. 

Distant tonight are my tribe and her cities, 
Turbine and factory, engine and wheel, 

Prides and disgraces and honors and pities. 
Stone wall and brick wall and riveted steel. 

lOI 



102 THE WIND IN" THE CORN 

Here where your flocks and your cattle are rang- 
ing, 

Hogan and wickieup stand in the swale 
Blanket and basket are trade and exchanging, 

Traveler, tell me the end of your trail. 

Free through the cool star-lit silences blowing 
Throbs the swift night on your way's darkened 
blue. 

Navajo, Navajo, where are you going? 
Where your long trail ends mine will end too. 



A MIDLAND TWILIGHT 

The cloud-plumed afternoon has flown along the 

household street. 
Leaf shadows flicker. Freshly strown the sprays 

whir. Far and fleet 
Hushed, furtive footsteps dodge and creep and 

hunting voices call 
"I spy," and "One, Two, Three for you," around 

the street's still hall. 
The little winds of twilight blow. Upon the 

hop-scotch chalk 
Home-turning footsteps come and go along the 

dappled walk. 

The little winds of twilight blow closed flower 

and full-stirred tree, 

103 



104 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

And far and near a singing voice cries ''All 
Sorts Out, In Free'" 

The cloud-plumed afternoon has flown slow- 
winging green and bright 
And all the dreams her hours have known turn 

with her towards the night, 
The spacious night that quivers far in silver 

keeps and gray 
Beyond that first cool snowdrop star above the 

roof-rimmed way. 
Home and the night — profound for me, and 

happy their wide grace 
Thrills through the wind, the full-stirred tree, 

fleet game and white-starred space. 
Deep by their ways may my soul live as by her 

halidome, 
Through all her cloud-plumed day-time hours: 

and when to my great home, 



A MIDLAND TWILIGHT 105 

Home and the night at last I come, so may it 

be for me — 
Peace. Through my heart a fresh voice singing 

"All Sorts Out, In Free!" 



MARCH HORSES 

Down the rainy roof-top, up the silver street, 
Horses of the morning wind gallop far and 
fleet. 
Over mist and tree-top, down the break of day. 
Coursers of the cold-breathed wind swing me 
on your way. 

Light you whinnied at the gabling, and afar I'd 
dreamed your stabling — 
Heard you stamping in your stabling on the 
heaven's crystal floor, 
Dreamed your waiting in the airy days of ice- 
locked January, 
Through clear nights in February, past the 

pole-star lantern's door. 
io6 



MARCH HORSES 107 

Gallop past the hoary Hyads, and the snowy- 
clustered Pleiads, 
Over common, over open, over mud-flung road 
and plain, 
Cloud-winged horses with your streaming manes 
and dappled fetlocks gleaming 
Beautiful beyond my dreaming, down your 
yearly course again. 

Over highway, over byway, every way of yours 
is my way. 
Fog-smoked roof, and dripping alley, and the 
trail the wild duck cries, 
Ragged mist and splashing byway, plashing 
eaves, and flooded highway, 
Broken shore and full-flushed valley, and the 
hundred-hurdled skies. 

Gallop, gallop swifter to me, thrill the strength 
of daybreak through me, 



I08 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

I Twelve great winds of open heaven, in your 
splendor fleet and free, 

Winds above all pride and scorning, all self- 
shame and self-adorning 
As the naked stars of morning singing through 
the bare-branched tree. 



CITY WHISTLES 
To H. M. 



Now the morning winds are rising. Now the 

morning whistles cry. 
Fast their crescent voices dim the paling star. 
Through the misted city mainland, wide their 

questing summons fly 
Many-toned — "O mortal, tell me who you are !" 
Down the midland, down the morning, fresh 

their sweeping voices buoy : 
"Siren ship! Silver ship! Sister ship! Ahoy! 

Sister ship ahoy! Ship ahoy! 

What's the stuff of life you're made from? What 

the cargo you must trade from ?" 
109 



no THE WIND IN THE CORN 

From afar their onward voices break the blue, 
Crying, "Bring your gold or barley! Come to 

barter! Come to parley! 
Ring the bell, and swing the bridge, and let me 

through," 
Like some freighted ship that goes, where the 

city river flows, 
Like a trading ship that questions, "Who are 

you?" 
In among the river craft, as she rides by stack 

and shaft 
Through Chicago from Sheboygan and the Soo. 
"What's the stuff of life you're made from? 

What the cargo you convoy? 
Ring the bell! Swing the bridge! Sister ship, 

ahoy!" 

II 

At last 

The twilight rises fast. 



CITY WHISTLES HI 

"Hard was our day." 

The scaling whistles say, 

"Our jarred and jangled day." 

Then all their clamors blow, 

"Great was our day !" 

And sing a tale of fate untold and fugitive, 

Something spacious, something mordant, some- 
thing gracious and discordant, 

Mean and splendid, something all our lives here 
live. 

Ill 

Down the midland mists at twilight, have you 

heard their singing sweep, 
Where their far-toned voices, many chorded, 

buoy — 
And our mortal ways in wonder hail creation's 

unknown deep — 
"Siren ship! Silver ship! Sister ship, ahoy!" 



A CITY AFTERNOON 

Green afternoon, serene and bright 
Along my street you sail away 

Sun-dappled like a ship of light 
That glints upon a wimpled bay. 

Afar, freight-engines call and toll: 
The sprays flash on the fragrant grass : 

The children and the nurses stroll: 
The charging motors plunge and pass. 

Invisibly the shadows grow, 

Empurpling in a rising tide 
The walks where light-gowned women go, 

White curb, gray asphalt iris-dyed. 

A jolting trolley shrills afar: 
Nasturtiums blow and ivy vines: 

112 



A CITY AFTERNOON 113 

Wet scents of turf and black-smoothed tar 
Float down the roof-trees' vergent lines. 

Where will you go, my afternoon, 
That glint so still and swift away 

Blue-shaded like a ship of light 

Bound outward from a wimpled bay? 

Oh, thrilling, pulsing, dark and bright, 
Shall you, your work, your brain, your 
mirth, 

Fly into the immortal night 
And silence of our mother earth? 

She bore all Eden's green and dew 
And Persia's scented wine and rose, 

And, flowering white against the blue, 
Acanthus leaf and marbled pose. 

And deep the Msenad's choric dance. 
Crusader's cross and heathen crest, 



"4 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Lie sunk with rose and song and lance 
All veiled and vanished in her breast. 

And all their afternoons once danced 
And sparkled in the sapphire light, 

And iris shade, as you have glanced 
Green afternoon, in vibrant flight. 

As down dim vistas echoing, 

Dead afternoons entreat our days, 

What breath of beauty will you sing 
To souls unseen and unknown ways? 

How close, and how unanswering, 
Green afternoon, you pulse away. 

So little and so great a thing. 
Deep towards the bourn of every day. 



CITY VESPERS 

Come home, my child, come home. The fogs are 

falling : 
Along the blue-walled street the whistles calling : 
Along the street ten thousand footsteps falling, 

Through steam and smoke-wreath's foam. 
Bells cry afar: afar the darkness winging, 
Soars throbbing with the chimes and whistles 

ringing, 
The breath of night, the twilight city, singing : 

Come home, my child, come home. 

Lock fast the locks, drop down the shutters 

shading, 
From shop and counter, counting-house and 

trading, 

"5 



Il6 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

From dock-yard, stock-yard, derrick, crane, and 
lading, 
From caisson, clay, and loam, 

Come home, my child, come home, in many- 
chording 

And rushing voice, the city sings, from hoard- 
ing, 

From spending, grudging, judging, and record- 
ing. 
Come home, my child, come home. 

Come from disgrace and honor, craft and 

scheming. 
From work and shirking come, from deed and 

dreaming. 
Success and failure where the lights are 

streaming 
Azure and chrysolite. 
Yellow and crystal, where the mists are falling, 



CITYVESPERS 117 

The yard-bells ringing, engine whistles calling, 

Along the street ten thousand footsteps falling 

Come through the dark-blown night. 

Where tall-piled height and dusky cornice 

lower 
On storied citadel and tall-crowned tower. 
Comer and curb a million arc-lights flower 

Full in the twilight air. 
If all the foot- falls spoke the destinations 
Of all the dreams of all the generations 
Upon their way, all shames, all aspirations 

Would find their kindred there. 

Here steps your fate, my child, your generation 
That walks through time to some far consumma- 
tion 
Unknown along the blue street's destination 
Through fog and smoke-wreath's foam. 



Il8 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Here flies your life, for worse or better winging 
And pulsing with the bells and whistles ringing, 
The heart of night, the full-thronged city singing : 
Come home, my child, come home. 



A CITY EQUINOCTIAL 

The city mists lie dreaming. From afar 
Over the sea of roof-tops veiled and hoar 
And hung with sapphire lights, the brumal wind, 
The rains transpirant break the clouds to stream 
On tenement and ware-house, wharf and spire. 

The buoy-lights throb. Fog-horns bay. Athwart 
Black shaft and chimney pillared in the smoke, 
Past high-splashed walls, past corniced street, 

swart alley 
On crane and shack, the rain swings, beautiful — 
Oh, beautiful, thrilled with the brumal wind. 
Wind of the night, crying full, full and deep 
Resurgent from afar. 

By rain-whipped roads 

By whistling tree, over the wheat-fields bare, 
119 



120 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

The broken cane, South, North and East and 

West, 
On bayou, swale, lake, mountain-top and valley 
Runs the great storm: Tonight, tonight 
Past countless house-walls down this very street 
Of my own life it courses — storm of the gulf 
Storm of the terraced lakes, the ocean shores 
Reverberant afar — wind of the world. 

Cry, cry again, great voice, 

Voice of the hungry storm. 

Cry full and far in beauty. For till now 

I never heard your cool-spaced, ragged chords 

Break on the city house-tops so profoundly — 

Welling and coursing from undying springs. 

Pure, pure and deep from countless wells and 

springs — 
The tone of striving, the clear tone of tears 
Inevitable — voice of the surgent world, 



A CITY EQUINOCTIAL 121 

The speech of disappointments and desires, 
Voice of the urgent world, full, full and deep, 
The voice of mortal hungers. 

More responsive, 
Richly responsive and more beautiful 
To me the rain, the wind, the night that tell 
Over my country's wide-spread plains and towns 
Along a thousand cities' towers and lights, 
The strength aspirant of the longing earth, 
Than all the high ecstatic hymns and harps 
Of an envisioned heaven. Till I heard 
Fate, death, desire speak deep for all men, heard 
From springs unknown the far, clear tone of 

tears 
Inevitable, from un fathomed keeps, 
I could not know nor dream of beauty — hark 
To the great broken music of the world. 
The hungry storm. 



122 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

Cry, cry again quick voice, across this street, 

My life — 

Wind of the world, storm of the world, my 

world, 
On unremembering nights blow back, as now 
You cry down corniced street and swart-splashed 

alley, 
Over a thousand cities' spires and lights. 
The singing prairie brown-spread, plain and free, 
Up from the Gulf, up from the ocean shores. 
Resurgent from afar. 



BEHIND THE DAY 

Behind the day a thousand stars, my brother, 
Blaze deeply through the snow and sapphire 
sky 
Uncounted trails invisible and other 
Than are the clear-crowned ways of night on 
high. 

The things unknown — the things beyond all 

knowing — 

Where first we came from, where our souls 

shall go. 

Pulse still, around us, past the far winds' 

blowing, 

Like day-star trails down heavens' light and 

snow. 

123 



124 THE WIND IN THE CORN 

One nearer knowledge, more than any other 
I long for. Better than as though the blue 

Should speak, were this, through all our world, 
my brother. 
That truly you knew me, and I knew you. 



i^y 



